About Sam
by messy heart
Summary: Something's up with Sam and everyone wants to know what it is. One thing is for sure, though: jumping to conclusions may be dangerous to your health.


Freddie knew something was up with Sam. It wasn't because he was some sort of Sam expert (although he probably should be, especially considering that she'd been his girlfriend for a little over a year now) but more to do with the fact that she had outright asked him how much money he had in his bank account.

"What? Why do you want to know?" he asked, instantly suspicious.

"Just curious?"

"Yeah..." he answered slowly, the suspicious still firmly in place. I'm not telling you."

She rolled her eyes, crossed her arms and began tapping her foot. It's been a long time since that particular stance intimidated him and it amuses him when she still tries to do it when he knows it's all bluster. The next several minutes are spent staring at each other until Sam finally broke the impromptu staring contest, stomping her foot one last time and turning her back on him.

He hated it when she did that, which is probably why she did it in the first place. See, that was his weakness. He'd always been a visual learner, needed to see things to understand them properly. It took a while for Sam to figure it out. He would always insist on video chats instead of text messaging or calling when they were in their respective homes. Same went for when they fought. He preferred fixing things face-to-face which never sat well with Sam (this might be because his girlfriend was more concerned about _his_ welfare than her own) which had resulted in the numerous times that Carly and Gibby (and even Spencer) had to play mediator between the two. He needed to just see her, needed to see her eyes, the expression on him.

"Come on, Sam," he tries, "What's this all about?"

"I can't _tell_ you."

And really, it was quite possibly the most ridiculous conversation that he'd ever had with his girlfriend, with both of them telling each other about not being able to tell each other something. Thankfully, she twirled around to face him, although the look of resignation on her face kind of threw him off.

"I'm gonna need to get a job," she said, obviously dreading the very idea.

"Why do you need money, Sam? Are you in trouble or something?"

It's the look that she leveled him with that concerned him even more (which is saying a lot because dating Sam Puckett meant being in a constant state of concern). She appeared to be considering whether or not to tell him and Sam had the habit of telling him _everything_ (e.g. how her mother's rash was about the size of Cuba and that she picked up some fliers at the health center to give to his insane mother) and that fact she just shrugged and claimed that it was nothing important before leaving altogether meant that something was up.

This was not good. Not good at all.

...

Carly knew something was up with Sam. It wasn't because she and Sam were inseparable (and that pretty much came to an end when her best friend started dating their other best friend—which she's supremely pleased with—but you know...) but because she forewent watching Girly Cow to "look for a job". It wasn't that she didn't think Sam could do it because Sam was notorious for accomplishing things she put her mind to (e.g. going without sleeping for three nights, eating Spencer's six-foot meat sculpture, etc.) but the refusal to tell her _why_ she needed a job.

"You hate working," she pointed out to her best friend who was filling out the application form for the Skybucks they were in. "In fact, you only got that last job because we coerced you into it. And even then, that was a few years ago."

Sam merely shrugged. "Yeah, well, I need money."

"What do you _need_ the money for, Sam?"

"To _spend_, Carly."

"But what are you going to spend it on?"

"Stuff."

This wasn't going well.

"Help me out here, Carly. How do I answer this question: Why would I like to work at Skybucks Coffee Company?"

Carly threw her hands up in the air. "That's _exactly_ what I've been trying to figure out!"

...

"Do you know what's up with Sam?" The two teenagers asked each other at the same time.

Freddie slumped against the bank of lockers with a groan. He was hoping that Carly would have some answers but evidently she was equally hoping that he did. The only thing that seemed clear was that Sam Puckett needed money, _really_ needed it and no one knew why. And maybe a part of him is kinda hurt that she refused to tell him and yeah, it did kinda make him feel better that Carly appeared to be as clueless as he was, but the larger more important part of him was seriously worried. A sentiment that was mirrored in Carly's eyes.

"I hope she's not in trouble," Carly mumbled, "I mean, she's Sam and you know that half of the time she doesn't really need us to bail her out."

"That's because she hasn't gotten into trouble in a while." He pointed out because it was the truth.

Through some impressive plotting on both their parts, they'd managed to keep one Samantha Puckett in line. It was hard. Well, more painful than actually hard. And expensive. Fat cakes, smoothies and fatty pork products don't buy themselves, you know. But it was worth it.

"I went over to her house yesterday during her shift, just to see if anything was going on at home..." He added as he readjusted the straps of his backpack. "Her mom didn't lose her job or anything. In fact, she was kinda proud that she's held on to it for so long. So it's not some family thing at least... Just wish she would just tell us."

"The thing is, Freddie," Carly began, her eyes sad, "If Sam can't tell you and she can't tell me... Who is she going to tell?"

...

Spencer knew something was up with Sam. Not because his refrigerator had been suspiciously full the past couple of weeks (not that he was complaining or anything because his wallet could certainly use a break from her appetite) but because Carly and Freddie told him. Except Spencer never liked being involved in his little sister's schemes. For one thing, he was too old. As in, he suffered from back pains and the occasional muscle spasms and was undoubtedly in for a life of arthritis which made the future seriously suck. So yeah, scheming? It was a little too much for him.

But then Carly had pulled out those awful puppy dog pleading eyes (not _literally_ pulled out!) that he'd never learned to say no to and Freddie had been all desperate and on his knees and promised to go to the pet store with him so that someone could finally convince the pet store owner that he _wasn't_ going to steal the guinea pig! He'd only wanted to see if the guinea pig could fit inside his pocket and then forgot to take it out before he left the store. SO HE FORGETS THINGS! Is that such a crime?

(Lindsay Lohan would understand him.)

Then again, it was about Sam and the concern was kinda infectious and it wasn't long before he was feeling it, too. So he had agreed to have a chat with her, but didn't promise any results because... he wasn't stupid. Talking to Sam would hardly be a walk in park.

His chance came about two days later.

"Hey, Sam! What's up?" He asked her the second she closed the apartment door behind her. She seemed a bit on the weary side, probably having just finished a shift at the Skybucks, and plopped down on his sofa face first.

The first snore came out about a minute later.

"All right then... Nice talkin'."

Well. He tried.

...

Gibby knew something was up with Sam. Not because he cannot, for the life of him, remember the last time she threw an insult at his direction (not that he actually missed it, but it _was_ rather disconcerting) but the look on Carly's face told him that something was up. It was then that the gap between Freddie and Carly suddenly became more pronounced, more visible. Gibby wasn't aware that they functioned like detachable parts, able to go about breathing without the presence of the other. Or rather, attempt to function by the looks of it, because the looks of it were kinda bad, to be honest.

"Why don't you just ask her where she is?" Gibby made the mistake of asking. He was a little tired of watching Carly fret over Sam's tardiness to rehearsals. It wasn't out of the ordinary for Sam to be tardy after all. The blonde always managed to come fifteen minutes after the agreed upon time, looking decidedly disheveled with her boyfriend in tow. However, seeing as how Freddie was sitting beside him, he could see where the anxious girl was coming from.

"We did!" she answered him, her voice reaching an astronomical pitch. "She's working a double shift! A DOUBLE SHIFT! SAM PUCKETT! DOUBLE SHIFT!"

Beside him, Freddie was massaging his temples with his thumbs. He was _this_ close to looking like shit that Gibby had no doubt that the guy shared Carly's worry and then some. It was a clear signal that he shouldn't get involved in whatever was happening, but... he didn't like seeing Carly so worried over it that he figured maybe he could talk to Sam and see what was up.

The second he suggested it, they practically pushed him out the door shouting thank yous at him.

Sam was looking a little worse for wear and there was a pout on her lips that made him want to bail on the whole thing but in his mind's eye he saw how Carly looked at him with such hope. He had to do this.

Subtlety, he figured, was the key. He entered and decided to take a few minutes to look up at the menu board that was posted high on the ceiling to sort of blend into the crowd. Unfortunately, the second he lowered his gaze, he was met by twin sapphire irises.

"Did Freddie and Carly send you?"

It must have been pathetic how he sputtered and made weak hand gestures in an effort to come up with an (_any_) excuse. Sam didn't appear to be mad at him, however. She just looked kind of tired.

"They're just worried about you," he finally managed to say when it seemed that Sam wouldn't be beating him unconscious any time soon. "Can't you just talk to them?"

"If I could, then I would've by now."

He couldn't really argue with her logic.

"You're not in trouble or anything like that, are you? Because they think you need the money for something."

Sam rolled her eyes, removed her Skybucks cap from her head only to whack his shoulder with it. "Of course I need money for something! Seriously? That's why I got a job in first place! And I'm not in trouble... at least not yet."

"Yet?" Gibby repeated. That didn't sound very good.

"Just please don't tell Freddie about this, okay?" For the first time since he'd known her, Sam Puckett seemed to be asking for _his_ help and consideration. "He doesn't need to get involved and don't tell Carly either. She won't understand."

"But you gotta talk to them..."

"And I will, but just not now. Please Gibby—" That was another first. Please? "—

He nodded stiffly before bidding her farewell. He was going to do as she asked.

Until he rounded the corner. Then he got pounced by Freddie and Carly.

...

"I know what's up with Sam."

Carly looked at Freddie, unblinking as she waited for him to finally reveal what this whole Sam thing was about. She sincerely hoped it wasn't something horrible. Although, the reasonable side of her thought that it probably wasn't a bad thing. Sam got a job. Normal people got jobs all the time! Sam was a normal person! She can get a job! So why were they all making a big deal out of this? So what if Sam didn't want to tell them what she needed the money for? So what? Except that Gibby had recounted her best friend's ominous 'yet' and that didn't really sit well with her. That and Freddie was looking a little pale.

"Well?" she asked, keeping her impatience in check. "Tell me then."

"I think she's pregnant."

Obviously, her hand had a mind of its own. How else could she explain the extremity in question flying through the air and landing on Freddie's cheek.

"What the hell, Carly?"

And there went her hand again. Honestly, she couldn't stop it even if she tried.

"Carly! Stop hitting me!"

"I'm sorry! It's my hand! It doesn't like hearing stupid things!"

...

Marissa Benson knew something was up with Sam. Not because she hadn't detected the girl's hammy scent in the apartment in a while (something she's immeasurably thankful for) but because her darling Freddie had taken to walking around the said apartment with a constipated look on his face. Of course, at first, she had thought that he was actually constipated and after the mention of laxatives her son found it prudent to inform her that it he wasn't actually suffering from stubborn bowel movement but that it he had something on his mind.

Only relationship problems gave people faces that looked like some sort of indigestion, so she figured the root cause of it was Samantha Puckett. It wasn't that she didn't like her son's girlfriend. She found Sam to be... fine. She was fine. In small doses. When the tiny blonde didn't speak. The second she opened her mouth though was an entirely different thing but Marissa was able to overlook that because Sam _did_ make Freddie happy. Well, now she wasn't and Marissa Benson wasn't going to stand for some girl making her Freddie feel bad in a way that can't be fixed by medication. But she was confident that whatever it was would eventually make it's way to the dinner table as it always had the habit of doing.

Except this is probably the one time it shouldn't have.

"Hey, mom?"

Marissa tried the quell the triumph that bubbled up from her chest as she put on her best 'Go ahead, I'm listening' face. "Yes, Freddie?"

"Was I planned?"

"Planned?"

"You know..." Freddie placed his fork filled with beansprouts on his plate. "Did you plan on having me? Did you and dad sit down and think, 'okay, let's have a kid' and then had me or was I unplanned?"

This wasn't at all going the way she thought it would. "You were unplanned, honey, but we love you as much—even _more_—than a planned child!"

He appeared relieved with her answer and for a second there, she thought she was in the clear. But then he opened his mouth and her world shattered.

"And you did all right," he asked, evidently worried and nervous, by the way his knuckles had turned white from gripping the edge of the table, "Right? I mean, just because a kid wasn't in your ten-year plan, that didn't mean that everything didn't turn out all right... _Right_?"

If someone asked Marissa Benson what happened after that, she wouldn't be able to answer. All she remembered was waking up in the hospital because apparently she hit her head on the dining table and required stitches.

Eight stitches.

...

Sam knew something was up. She knew it the second she climbed through the window and onto the fire escape. Her boyfriend was oddly pensive and he stared up at the night sky as if he were waiting for the stars to speak. She liked that he's like that, that he could stay silent and unassuming one moment and shouting and manhandling her the next. And yeah, she liked being manhandled, too. Shut up.

Ruffling his hair a bit, she slipped onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Your mom's looking at me weirder than usual," she told him, her words muffled as she pressed her face against his warm neck. "What's that all about?"

"Probably tired from covering the dining table in bubble wrap." His arms tightened around her and she sighed contentedly.

She had missed moments like this. They weren't the PDA type unless PDA meant that she sometimesmaybenotreally let him hold her hand. It wasn't very often. They liked having their stuff private and moments like these were what made them. Unfortunately, having a job meant less time like this and more time making someone another non-fat soy latte. But that was, thank goodness, a thing of the past because as of 6PM that day—

"I have something to tell you," he whispered, his breath hot against her forehead.

She had been on the verge of sleep, because Freddie conveniently doubled as comfy pillow. "I have something to tell you, too."

"I know."

"Oh you do, do you?" She pushed away from him with her hands on her shoulders, smiling. "What, did God finally answer your prayers and given you insight into the mind of Sam Puckett?" She waited for the inevitable witty comeback. Except there was none. Freddie was staring at her with those soft brown eyes of his and kindamaybesorta had the power to make her melt, but there was something in those eyes that made her pause. "Freddie?"

The staring turned serious. _Very_ serious.

"You know I love you, right?"

Wait. Wasn't this how breakups started?

"Listen, Freddie. I'm really sorry about not telling you and Carly about what's been going on with the money and the job and everything. And I know that having the job and working the crazy shifts doesn't leave a lot of time—"

"Shut up," Freddie cut in, placing his index finger on her lips. "Are you gonna let me talk?"

"Depends. Are you breaking up with me?"

"What?" He genuinely looked surprise with the idea and that made Sam feel slightly better. "What made you think that?"

"Answer the question! Are you or aren't you?"

"I'm not! Answer my question!"

"Because it was starting to sound like you were with the whole 'you know I love you' bit and—" And Sam had every intention of finishing that off with an accusatory finger and an insulting (pet) nickname but her boyfriend obviously had other ideas because he kissed her.

"Marry me."

Whoa.

...

Ted Franklin knew something was up. He knew it the second he stepped foot in Ridgeway that fateful Monday morning. There was a lingering scent of deviousness that only principals could detect but he shrugged it off, making his way to his office. Except his office wasn't there. Well, it was but everything was upside down. Literally. Everything was in the exact place he left it last Friday except somehow the floor had become the ceiling and the ceiling was the floor.

He blinked a couple of times, hoping that maybe he was just imagining things. But no. Everything was still upside down.

"What in the world?" He heard his secretary gasp from behind him. Then began to tell him the rest of the good news. "The teachers' tables in all the classrooms are upside down and glued to the ceiling, too."

About five minutes later, maintenance informed him that someone took off all the doors from the restrooms and from the stalls and that the floors had marbles glued to every square inch. There were about a million other marbles in the gym, spelling out the word SENIORS.

"But you gotta admit, Principal Franklin, this has got to be the best senior prank yet."

That was true. Especially since he'd have to call off classes seeing as how no one would be able to use the restrooms until maintenance fixed them which would take "five to six hours, depending on what glue was used."

...

The senior prank.

Sam had been preparing herself for this for far longer than she would like to admit. The last three years of high school had been torturous, igniting a stinging jealousy inside her whenever she would hear or witness the senior class's "epic" prank. Epic? Her ass was epic. All those other pranks? They've all been pathetic and she'd always find herself having to sit on her hands whenever someone thought about recounting how the senior prank had been amazing or else she'd find herself hitting someone.

Obviously, Ridgeway didn't know what epic really meant. But they will. Very soon.

See, Sam had been awfully _good_ this past year or so. It was their last year and both Carly and Freddie had made it clear that they were going to follow _her_ and do whatever it was she ended up doing. She didn't really think they were serious except Carly had taken to calling either Inside-Out Burger or Build-A-Bra to ask if they had any employment opportunities whenever Sam skipped class or declined an invitation to do homework. Freddie hadn't offered much comfort to his girlfriend either. He would let her feast on junk food until she felt too heavy to move, much like a shackled prisoner, after which he'd spring the homework and projects on her person.

But the senior prank would leave Sam feeling vindicated. She just knew it. And it did. That's why she _had_ to do it.

She needed money, though. Epicness required funding. Hence the job.

...

"So... you're _not_ pregnant?"

Sam glared at her boyfriend. "I'm _never_ letting you touch me again! I can't believe I had sex with a stupid person!"

...

**Author's Notes:**

Okay, I know I said that I'd update Nate and Olivia soon (for any of you who are following that) and I will! Except... I kinda got stuck somewhere in the middle and when I get stuck in the middle of writing something, I tend to write something else. Hence, this fic. I did need this tiny bit of fun because I've been crunching out angst lately for reasons unknown. I needed a pick-me-up!

Btw, sorry if I haven't been able to reply to reviews and messages or even read fics and review them. I'm on the busy side and right now I'm only on when I have a fic done, as I usually have them written down in a notebook when I have free time. Should free up soon, though!

Also, I'm thinking of getting my stuff beta-ed as I'm entirely too lazy do it myself. It probably won't be very extensive as I'm just mostly concerned with typos which I'm notorious for which, more often than not, the missing word. I don't know why that happens! I just tend to think that I typed it when I haven't. So weird!


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